


lover, you can lean on me (i can lift you higher)

by ifthebookdoesntsell



Series: when you're alyssa greene [2]
Category: The Prom (2020), The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Alyssa centric, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Making Out, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, there's nothing SUPER explicit but it's just more to be safe than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifthebookdoesntsell/pseuds/ifthebookdoesntsell
Summary: For better or worse, Alyssa believes in God.She’s unsure if it’s because of how she was raised, or if it’s simply a side effect of growing up in Edgewater, but much of her early years are dominated by church and Sunday School.It’s ingrained in her that nothing could be worse than being seen as a sinner in the eyes of God, that worship is a wholesome endeavor, that being a good Christian matters.So, Alyssa tries to be good, tries to say thanks for what she has been given, to keep her head down and never step a toe out of line.For the first part of her life, there was never a reason to challenge any of the rules she set out for herself, any of the rules her mother or the church seemed adamant about, but, things change.Alyssa grows older, and her existence doesn’t seem like it has a plan at all; she finds herself looking to build her own life for the very first time. She finds that worship doesn’t just have to happen at the altar, that perhaps the greatest form of it is that little thing called falling in love.(Or, a study of Alyssa's relationship with religion and how it changes before, during, and after canon.)
Relationships: Alyssa Greene/Emma Nolan
Series: when you're alyssa greene [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125971
Comments: 28
Kudos: 56





	lover, you can lean on me (i can lift you higher)

**Author's Note:**

> heyyyy. me again lmao. i hope everybody's safe out there!
> 
> here's something i've been working on for a bit now, and it was super cathartic to write considering i connect pretty deeply to some of the stuff alyssa goes through and i wanted to give dimension to her character even more. i would say i have no excuse, but i actually think i do have one for this one considering that religion is clearly prevalent but not super explored in the canon due to time constraints and such. 
> 
> obvious content warning for discussions of religion. there's nothing actually "explicit explicit" in this fic, but i find it's better to be safe. 
> 
> anyway, all of that is to just say that i hope you enjoy! thanks for clicking lol 
> 
> (fic title from almost heaven by jlh)

For better or worse, Alyssa believes in God. 

She’s unsure if it’s because of how she was raised, or if it’s simply a side effect of growing up in Edgewater, but much of her early years are dominated by church and Sunday School. 

It’s ingrained in her that nothing could be worse than being seen as a sinner in the eyes of God, that worship is a wholesome endeavor, that being a good Christian matters.

Still, it’s often difficult for Alyssa to find these things worthwhile, often difficult for her to understand the reasons behind a supposedly tolerant place’s intolerance, and yet, she cannot let go of the part of her that wishes to believe, the part of her that almost _hopes_ there’s a higher power, the part of her that wants to believe in predestination, if only to explain the harder times, the pain and the hurt. 

So, Alyssa tries to be good, tries to say thanks for what she _has_ been given, to keep her head down and never step a toe out of line. 

For the first part of her life, there was never a reason to challenge any of the rules she set out for herself, any of the rules her mother or the church seemed adamant about, but, things change.

Alyssa grows older, and her existence doesn’t seem like it has a plan at all; she finds herself looking to build her own life for the very first time. She finds that worship doesn’t just have to happen at the altar, that perhaps the greatest form of it is that little thing called falling in love.

It takes years, though-- years of waiting, of wishing, of attempting to understand, years of early Sunday mornings, of communion and disenchantment-- before she realizes, remembers, that the belief should have always come from within, from what-- _who--_ she chooses to love, not the will of others. 

***

Alyssa’s mother tells her what dress to wear every Sunday when she’s young. Her father isn’t quite as invested, cares mostly that they’re presenting well enough to the rest of the town even if he and his wife are beginning to fall apart at the seams. 

She sits in her usual pew, stopping herself from kicking her feet since Veronica scolded her last time, doing her best to listen to the sermon. The reverend talks of sin, of absolution, of keeping goodness in one’s heart. He lists off behaviors that are unacceptable: adultery, dishonesty, gluttony, homosexuality--

Her ears perk up. She doesn’t know what it means, but there’s a murmuring in the crowd of agreement, of confirmation that she hadn’t heard in reply to any of the others. She does her best to shrug it off, but even at ten, Alyssa feels her heart clench at the word, feels something immediately off in the pit of her stomach. 

She shifts uncomfortably. Her mother tightens the grip on her shoulder, clearly communicating _sit still, Alyssa._

She obeys, even as she suddenly notices how itchy and weird her dress feels. 

***

Alyssa’s father leaves on a crisp February day. She’s thirteen. There are barely any words spoken, but he does drop down in front of her, a soft, watery smile on his features that seem to have grown exponentially greyer as the months have passed by. 

“I love you, Alyssa,” he tells her, kissing her forehead. “Always remember that, okay?”

“I don’t want you to go,” she mumbles, her young-teen brain trying to understand why her father was leaving. 

_Was she not enough? Had she not confessed properly? Is this punishment?_

“I know,” he murmurs, refusing to look up and meet her mother’s eyes. “I know, my baby.” He urges her into a hug. “God, I’ll miss you.”

Her heart stutters at the Lord’s name. She’d never heard her father say such things, never heard him breathe that word even when he was angry, not outside of church, anyway. 

“I’ll miss you too,” she cries. 

She breathes him in for a final time: the pine scent of his t-shirt, the comfort she’s so often found in it after a long day of school or when she was simply confused after Bible study. He would sit her down, explain every line with a kindness her teacher never did. Her father made her love God, made her have a reason to look to the sky. He believed, so she did too. Suddenly, she’s unsure. Suddenly, she doesn’t know how to feel. 

_How could He let this happen?_

She doesn’t ask. It’s not her business. The Lord has plans for everyone. 

Still, she hugs her dad goodbye tearfully, chasing after his car until he’s barely a dot in the distance, somehow already knowing that he’ll never be back, that this particular prayer will never be answered no matter how many times she utters it, no matter how hard she squeezes her eyes shut and promises she’d give up most everything else for it to be true. 

***

Home is different after her dad leaves. 

It’s colder, number, and the joy that once occupied every bit of empty space is overtaken by an aimlessness that makes Alyssa tense to her very core. 

Faith has seeped into every aspect of her mother’s life. If she isn’t at home, she’s praying. Alyssa isn’t quite sure what for, but, personally, she can’t find a reason why asking God for anything would help. 

It’s been two years. Her father isn’t coming back. 

Alyssa tries her hardest to maintain her belief, tries to find the silver lining in what the church has given her. It’s given her friends, a community. She lies back in bed and smiles at the fact that it’s also given her a reason to deny date requests from boys. 

They all seem to want her, but she keeps her distance. The Lord is the perfect excuse; she tells them that she wishes to remain chaste, that she isn’t one for any activity deemed sinful. She doesn’t tell them that she’s thought several nights over that she may not even like boys, that she’s been having impure thoughts that she’s confessed every chance she gets. 

_It’s a sin._

She reminds herself of the fact on the daily, but it’s increasingly difficult to quell her wonderings. It’s especially hard considering Emma Nolan is in her chemistry class, considering that the girl is confident, has the prettiest eyes, the nicest smile--

 _No._

Alyssa tries to shut off the little voice in her head. 

It remains steady for the next few months, is the reason why she blushes whenever Emma is close, is the reason she accidentally explodes peanut brittle in the lab and then _has_ to talk to Emma, since she’s the only one who isn’t laughing at her, instead watching with a soothing kind of curiosity as she takes Alyssa in the direction of her locker, offering an extra shirt. 

She takes the clothing after a moment of thought, thanking Emma with a smile. The fabric is soft and worn, and she doesn’t even realize how comfortable she is until she gets home and it hits her that she’s still wearing it, long sleeves of the top dropping past her hands slightly. 

She changes again, folding the shirt and shoving it into her desk drawer to give back to Emma next time they have chemistry first period and nobody will bat an eye at them being in the hallway together. 

Alyssa goes to bed that night with more thoughts of Emma, more knowledge of her kindness, and though another voice in her head, one that suspiciously sounds like the minister at her church, whispers that this would mean she was born sick, she ignores it just this once.

***

The first time Alyssa kisses Emma, she has the stray thought that it’s perhaps what ascension will feel like one day. 

They’re in the band closet-- it’s been months of stealing glances, of eating lunch together, of hanging out discreetly when they could-- and finally, it’s impossible for them to deny the comfortable, not-so-secret feelings between them. 

One moment, Alyssa’s world feels wholly incomplete, and the next, it shifts on its axis, stands up good and proper enough to simultaneously throw her off balance and ground her in a way she’s never known before. 

One moment, Emma is playing Alyssa a new song she wrote, and another, Alyssa has her lips pressed to Emma’s, has her heart skipping and tripping in her chest, has rough fingertips ghosting tentatively over her cheek. 

Emma smiles into it, good, _pure,_ and _wholesome,_ redness spreading down her cheeks as they both take a brief breath to just look at each other, to just study each other, to get lost and found in each other once more. 

Hazel eyes change before her, moving between evergreen and amber with every passing second, and, idly, Alyssa wonders how could something-- _somebody--_ so wonderful, so beautiful, so genuine that she should almost be deemed righteous, could ever be thought sinful. 

**

Alyssa has found all internal arguments over what’s right and what’s wrong leave her head when she’s with Emma. 

Emma makes her feel as though she’s repented a thousand times over, as though she’s been cleansed of every sin and wrong she’s ever committed. Emma forces her to wonder if she ever wishes to confess again, or if the worries over her supposed sacreligious behavior simply died the second she felt this warmth, this love, if the confession that normally falls so readily from her lips faded into nothingness the moment hers touched Emma’s. 

She continues to go to church, but Alyssa doesn’t know what she believes of it anymore, doesn’t know what else could be wrong about what she’s been taught. 

Because Emma will kiss her knuckles in the car, or hold her tight in the bed of the pickup, or simply _exist_ and she finds that she’s falling faster and harder than she ever has before, finds that her heart calms itself around Emma much quicker and smoother than it ever has when she’s prayed, finds that the first time Emma says _I love you,_ she feels more seen, more _real,_ than she ever did under the cross, beneath the roof of a chapel, or even in the booth when she once whispered of impure thoughts, of her interest in girls as if it were some kind of damnation. 

On her good days, Alyssa doesn’t believe it to be so anymore. 

On her bad days, Emma reminds her why what they have could never be anything but purely _good,_ filled with beauty, could never be anything but the Lord allocating mercy for souls who were lost before they met and became intertwined. 

***

Alyssa decides that the space in the cabin of Emma’s pickup is the closest she’ll be to Heaven for a long while. 

It’s the way their fingers brush when rested on the console once Emma has pulled the car into park, the way they’ll trade bites of ice cream, kiss residual sweetness off the corner of the other’s lips. 

It’s the playlists Emma makes, one for every new month that they’re together. It’s the softness of their movements, the gentleness of rough fingertips on her cheek. 

It’s the laughter that fills the space between them, the safety that descends over her heart, her soul, as soon as brilliant, hazel eyes fix on her. 

It’s everything, and it’s nothing.

It’s just… Emma.

***

They start to experiment more. For so long, they’d kept their hands to themselves, trading soft kisses, snuggling close for nothing but the innocence of staying warm. 

There’s no conscious shift, but one evening, Betsy goes out to run errands while the stew simmers on the stove on low, saying she’ll be home in time for dinner, and Emma and Alyssa are left truly alone. 

They’re both lounging on Emma’s bed: Alyssa trying to get through her calculus homework while Emma fiddles with the final presentation details for a science project. The quiet is nice, enveloping them in a comfortable warmth as they work until finally, a sort of tension seeps into it, one steeped in curiosity and longing. 

Alyssa can feel eyes on her as she tries to solve for a derivative, as her pencil shakes when Emma shuts her computer and places it aside, inches closer until she can hook her chin over Alyssa’s shoulder under the guise of peeking down at her paper and trying to help with a problem her girlfriend is clearly struggling with. 

Alyssa turns the slightest bit, her breath fanning over Emma’s cheek, suddenly realizing how close they are, how quick her pulse is racing. 

“You forgot a negative sign,” Emma whispers into her ear, low and throaty. 

_She’s just being helpful,_ Alyssa tells herself, erasing quickly and trying to ignore the shiver that passes through her when she feels an arm curling around her hip, skimming under the hem of her shirt for just one moment before it wanders back into safer territory, resting on the curve of her waist. 

A blush is rushing down Alyssa’s neck as she attempts to finish the final two problems, but it’s difficult, considering that Emma’s grip around her middle tightens at the same time she presses a gentle kiss to her shoulder. 

_“Em,”_ she tries to warn, even as she leans back a little, pencil slipping from between her fingers slightly. 

“Yeah?” Emma hums. “Everything okay?”

Alyssa finds some kind of resolve at that, spinning around in Emma’s grasp quickly and pressing her backwards softly until they’re nose to nose and blonde hair is fanning across one of the pillows. 

Emma’s eyes widen, her lip caught between her teeth as she looks up at Alyssa teasingly, as if this is what she wanted all along. 

Normally when this happens, they’ll kiss for a few moments before settling against each other to doze off, but now, there’s a different kind of air between them, one where it feels like the temperature has been turned up by at least five degrees. 

“Is this okay?” Alyssa asks, realizing how quickly she moved, that her hair is falling loosely over her shoulders and that her thighs are bracketing Emma’s waist.

“Yeah,” Emma laughs shakily, hands locking loosely on the small of Alyssa’s back while her girlfriend leans over her a little further. “Yeah. Really okay.” 

Alyssa smiles. “Okay.” 

Softly, she places a hand beside Emma’s head, lowers herself gently until her nose brushes Emma’s, until she can breathe her in for just a moment before her girlfriend finally grows impatient and cups the back of her neck, pulling her down into a kiss. 

Fingers play with the baby hairs on the back of her neck, scratch at her scalp, and Alyssa groans quietly, gasping when a tentative tongue slips past her lips, a strangled noise that she didn’t even know she could make escaping her throat. 

She presses closer, simultaneous heat and shivers rushing down her spine when Emma brushes a hand under her top once more; it makes her pull back to breathe, to just _look_ at her girlfriend for a moment, makes her heart race when she sees the matching blush in round cheeks. 

Alyssa doesn’t know what overcomes her, but it’s purely instinct when she bends down again, this time missing Emma’s lips entirely and placing gentle kisses along her jawline, heaping attention onto the spot below her girlfriend’s ear when her jaw meets her neck. 

She grins when she hears Emma’s breath hitch, hears a quiet noise of approval and feels a hand tangle in her hair once more. 

“Is that good?” she murmurs, moving lower, tugging the collar of Emma’s flannel aside slightly so she can nose at the soft skin there, can experimentally nip and suck until she feels hips pressing against her own in a way that makes heat spark up between them. 

Emma hums, free hand that was laying uselessly on the bedspread also snapping into her hair to hold her close. 

Alyssa takes that as a sign to continue.

She presses her teeth into it gently, biting softly where her girlfriend’s neck meets her shoulder, heart pounding in her ears when Emma actually _moans,_ gasping, _“Jesus, Alyssa--”_

A shock like no other runs through her, hitting her square in the chest and spreading everywhere as she tries to get her bearings. Hot and cold rushes in her veins like never before as she repeats the movement, harder this time and--

_“God. Fuck--”_

Alyssa completely loses her breath at that, her brain slow and her pulse fast as her throat grows dry. In a flash, she suddenly understands why Kaylee and Shelby talk about _this,_ talk about being close to their boyfriends, about the rush and the euphoria and-- 

In the back of her mind, there’s a voice that tells her good girls don’t do this, but she _feels_ good like this, likes the way Emma is holding her close, is murmuring her name as if it’s confession, though she’s sure that Emma would never describe her as a sin, would go as far as to say that every time she whispers Alyssa’s name it’s more like prayer. 

Still, some part of her wants to say that it’s a bad thing, that she learned in Sunday School not to go around throwing names like God and Jesus, but Emma whispers it again, mumbles, whines _‘Lys_ for good measure, and Alyssa feels that resolve waning, feels her heart in her throat as she nips Emma’s pulse point harder, pulls herself free from the voice, banishes it, and surges back up to kiss Emma.

She finds the solace she’s so long searched for on soft lips, in each breath that they take in unison, in every second they spend wrapped in each other like it’s the only thing that matters.

***

Though moments with Emma are the best of her life, spending most afternoons with her girlfriend and Betsy makes returning home afterward weigh heavier on her heart. 

Her mother is usually working at the kitchen counter, glasses slipping down her nose as she tries to pay bills, searches for the next house showing she can make. 

Alyssa’s heart twists with guilt every time she lays eyes on these instances. She doesn’t want to break her mother down further, doesn’t want to disappoint her. So, she always lies-- this is something she has taken to confessing to the father-- explaining she had a school project or was with Kaylee and Shelby. 

She breathes a sigh of relief when she manages to escape the room unscathed, only slightly bent out of shape due to the coolness of the atmosphere, the solemnity that still fills every empty space of their home. 

Alyssa shuts the door with a sigh, grabbing one of Emma’s hoodies that’s hidden in the back of her closet-- she snorts at how fitting such an action is-- and pulling it over her head, allowing the familiar scent to calm her. She sits down to finish her homework, lacing her fingers together and leaning her forehead on them, staring at the wall and-- 

For the first time in months, Alyssa prays wholly, fully. 

She doesn’t pray to be changed, doesn’t ask to be anything but what she is. Instead, she asks for more courage, asks for some of her mother’s burdens to be lifted. She asks for a singular moment of acceptance when she decides it’s time, however ironic that may feel at times. 

She takes a breath, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Alyssa whispers a prayer of thanks, too, recalls the softness of Emma’s hand in hers, the warmth of Emma’s grandmother’s hugs. She murmurs thanks for what she’s been given, for the fact that she finally knows what it is, a bit, to reach salvation. 

She prays that one day she can tell her mother all of these things, about how Emma makes her heart dance in her chest, makes her _dizzy._

Emma makes her dizzy. And that’s so wonderful that she has to say it, has to tell somebody even if she’s unsure that whoever she’s telling is listening. 

Her heart settles slightly in her chest as she allows air to fill her lungs that is for once scented with possibility. 

_“Amen,”_ she breathes, an unfamiliar peace washing over her, guilt pushed aside and fear discarded in favor of something new: 

_Hope._

***

They sneak kisses in the bandcloset before Alyssa’s student council meeting; they kiss until they’re breathless, until enough love to hold them over for the rest of the school day is passed between them, until they manage to catch up on the morning’s events without a single word. 

“Can you still come over for dinner?” Emma asks, smoothing out the hem of Alyssa’s sweater.

“Yep,” Alyssa answers, looking up at her girlfriend softly, brushing some hair out of her face, the gesture so intimate that they both ache slightly. “I thought I could maybe come over a little early? Take you for a drive?”

Emma’s eyebrow raises, mirth reflected in hazel irises in a way that makes the other girl blush. “A drive?” 

Alyssa flushes harder, but she nods anyway, biting her lip as she purposefully flits her eyes back down to Emma’s for one moment before she kisses her goodbye. 

“I’ll see you then?” she murmurs, brushing her nose against Emma’s. 

Emma grins. “See you then.”

***

It’s started to happen like this more often:

Ever since Alyssa got a car, she’s been picking up Emma more frequently in it. There’s more space, and while Darla is good for longer dates that stretch into the night, her little Honda is more suitable for afternoon meetups due to its actual backseat. 

It’s not as if Alyssa is naïve. She knows the implication of meeting up with her girlfriend when there’s a downpour outside, of proposing to drive them out to a secluded little street, of clambering into the backseat the second she puts the car in park. 

Still, she had this elaborate plan to make it happen, to make Emma want to touch her and be touched, to hear any kind of words or curses or _names_ fall from pretty pink lips. It never occurred to her that Emma might be having similar thoughts, especially considering the fact that for most of the relationship, she’s been the one leading, at least in their more _exploratory_ activities. 

She’s completely unprepared when Emma kisses her, hard and sweet and rough and perfect, hand on her hip and the other rested by her leg. It makes her shiver, makes her toes curl when suddenly they’re pressed even closer. 

“Missed you,” Emma whispers, voice laced with an earnestness and something else Alyssa doesn’t know how to name. 

“You saw me at lunch,” Alyssa teases even as she grows breathless at the words, even as she blushes. 

“Doesn’t make it untrue.” Emma kisses her harder as if she’s purely oxygen, as if this is all she needs to survive, to live. Gently, she presses her tongue into the kiss, and she smiles when she feels Alyssa tremble beneath her, watches her eyes squeeze shut tighter, feels a hand suddenly on her back, forcing her closer. _“God, Alyssa._ You’re so beautiful.” 

_Fuck._

Again, it shouldn’t do it for her; she knows that. And yet--

Alyssa presses her tongue back against Emma’s, relaxes against the seat, allows heat to rush through her as a hand wanders under the hem of her shirt. Emma is halfway on top of her, a thigh between her two, and the car is suddenly warm as lips trail down her neck, pressing gently to the spot where her jaw meets her neck just below her ear, kisses and nips soft enough that it won’t leave too much of a mark. 

Still, Alyssa has to tamp down her hips, tips her head to the side to allow Emma more access as calloused fingertips begin to move downward, tracing the waistband of her jeans until a quiet whine escapes her throat. 

Emma laughs at that, throaty and deep in her ear, and Alyssa can’t help but shiver, can’t help but bite on her bottom lip to save herself from any more sounds escaping her and tangle a hand in blonde hair to keep her girlfriend exactly where she is. 

“Good?” Emma asks smugly. 

Alyssa nods frantically, gut suddenly tight and hot as Emma’s hand dips the tiniest bit lower, exploring softly. 

_“Shit,”_ Alyssa gasps, heart stuttering at the smile she feels against her pulsepoint. _“Emma--”_

“What would people say if they knew that good girl Alyssa Greene liked this?” 

Alyssa’s hips buck at the words. Emma grins wider, scratching lightly over her navel. 

“Good, Christian Alyssa in the back of her car with Emma Nolan’s hand--”

 _“God,”_ Alyssa squeaks before she can stop herself. _“Fuck, Emma. God--”_

She feels Emma stutter above her at the words, feels a tiny bit of guilt well up inside of her before Emma rises up to kiss her, seemingly aware of her thoughts, attempting to quiet them before they get out of hand. 

“That’s so hot,” Emma tells her, soft and genuine, the words practically whispered into her mouth. “You’re so hot.”

Alyssa blushes ferociously, overwhelmed and a little embarrassed that she’s so warm over something like this, a little embarrassed that she couldn’t hold in her voice this time, but then, Emma’s hands wander back into safer territory, hold her around the waist with a softness that makes her feel delicate and strong all at once, and she can’t find it in herself to really care. 

She feels _pretty_ with Emma, _wanted_ in a way that she never has anywhere else or with anybody else. 

Emma makes her feel everything. 

Emma makes her understand prayer once more; because while Alyssa wouldn’t ask for much— not anymore— she could ask to have this girl by her side for the rest of her life. 

That’s the last time they know peace for a while. 

***

Emma asks her to prom in the heat of a kiss, parked at an outlook just skirting the limits of South Bend, and Alyssa says yes, grinning with a blushing spreading up her cheeks, before she can think of all the reasons why maybe the answer should have been _no._

She says yes, holding Emma’s hand, listening to her talk about how they’ll finally be able to be together out loud, about how it’ll be the most perfect night ever. 

Alyssa believes her. 

There’s never been a reason to not. 

She doesn’t think of the possible consequences, is instead so absolutely floored that Emma _really_ likes her this much, that someone asked _her_ to prom. 

She says yes, and then she murmurs another one of those acceptance prayers she’s started to utter anytime there’s silence; she says yes, and then she holds fast to the tiny bit of hope that’s begun to reside consistently in her chest. 

She says yes. Emma kisses her harder. 

Alyssa sighs, presses forward, and she doesn’t remember ever being happier than this. 

***

As soon as Emma buys two tickets to prom, everything goes to Hell. 

Alyssa watches from afar, barely poked around the corner as the two girls running the table today eye her girlfriend suspiciously, seemingly trying to figure out who Emma’s date is, though the blonde keeps her mouth shut and her eyes down as she hands over the money and tugs the tickets free from the binder clip. 

It’s only when Emma begins to walk back in her direction that she breathes a sigh of relief, and it’s only when they’re alone, back in the band closet, that the girl gives her one of the tickets, kisses her cheek, whispers love in her ear until she can’t help but smile, can’t help but allow many of her other worries to dissipate. 

The peace doesn’t even last two minutes. 

Alyssa’s phone blows up. Emma’s is deafeningly quiet. 

**[Kaylee, 12:34pm]:** _Did you hear?!!! Emma Nolan wants to go to prom!!! Some kid texted his parents and now the PTA is saying no prom!!! You HAVE TO talk to your mom!!!_

Alyssa’s first reaction is to roll her eyes at the excessive amount of exclamation points. Her second is to worry like mad.

She shoves her phone into Emma’s face to show her the message as almost identical ones flood her inbox from Shelby, Kevin, Nick, and more of the prom committee and their boyfriends. 

“Shit,” Emma groans, arms still wrapped loosely around Alyssa’s waist as she watches the notifications ring in. “This is bad. This is really bad. What are you gonna do?” 

“I’ll… I’ll talk to my mother, I guess,” she replies, reading over the panic with a sort of detachment. 

She’s wholly aware that there are larger problems in the world, wholly aware that though this may be the biggest problem to hit Edgewater’s teens, _her_ biggest problem is that the longer she stays in the same room as her mother and tries to have a reasonable conversation the more she’s convinced that she’ll either have to blurt out that she likes girls or never speak the words at all. 

Silently, she leans against Emma’s shoulder, taking in a deep breath and trying to find comfort in the familiar scents of laundry detergent and home. 

She tries to hold onto the normality that has become their meet-ups, laces her fingers through Emma’s, taking note, as always, that her girlfriend’s hand is slightly bigger than hers, but that they fit together perfect anyway. 

Alyssa recalls every time she’s threaded her own fingers together before supplication, and so suddenly, she finds herself hoping to whomever is above that something changes quickly, that something happens to shake up this shitty town, that something will all her to have a moment like this with Emma in the light. 

She wishes so quietly, so earnestly, for them to be able to hold each other in public, so close that air cannot fit between them, so utterly and loudly in love that the world melts away as it always does in these breaks from the forcibly separate existences they lead. 

***

When a loud group barges into the gym holding picket signs, Alyssa isn’t sure if her prayers have been answered or willfully ignored. She studies the self-proclaimed _liberal democrats from Broadway,_ taking note of one of the women’s extremely expensive looking coats, noticing the nice looking dress shoes of the man who seems to be doing most of the speaking. 

When she asked for angels to be sent down, she didn’t think they’d be sporting Armani and holding signs that say _No More Mr. Nice Gay._

In fairness, she hadn’t expected anything to change at all, so she supposes some part of her should be glad that _somebody_ is at least trying. 

“We are here to pry open your tiny little minds!” 

Alyssa tries not to snort at that. That would be a miracle if she’s ever heard one. 

She meets Emma’s eyes across the gym, speaking to her in the silence. They acknowledge the panic that this will ensue, but also, they find a bit of hope in it. There are people on their side. People that are willing to listen. 

Emma’s gaze shifts amber before her, and the look she’s giving says _I love you._

Alyssa replies the same without thought. 

They meet after, and Emma tells her they’ll get through this, that she somehow still believes, and Alyssa takes the words and holds them close. 

If Emma, who’s been through so much, who’s so strong, believes, she can, too. 

She brushes some hair out of her girlfriend’s face, wants nothing more than to kiss her, to leave one last reminder of love on her lips, but her mother calls before she can. 

***

The reinstatement of prom is like a giant weight lifted off of Alyssa’s shoulders. She no longer has to deal with fielding questions from everybody as high up as the varsity football jocks all the way down to the sophomores who’ve nabbed a ticket from their junior friends. 

It leaves her time to think, leaves her time to realize that this is really happening. 

This time, she’s the one who asks Emma to prom, though it’s much more of a formality since they already know they’re going together. 

Emma wraps an arm around her, pulls her along in the direction of the band closet, kisses her as soon as they’re alone, murmurs excitement into her ear. 

Alyssa shivers in anticipation. Her arms wrap around Emma’s shoulders, and she just _looks_ at her. 

Emma is beautiful, absolutely ruinously so.

Alyssa studies every feature, every single detail of her girlfriend, of the girl she loves, in this moment, rubs a thumb over her cheek, and she can’t help but think that God made Emma Nolan and then threw in the towel, decided that He made the perfect specimen and he may as well call it done. She imagines some kind, man-looking immortal turning to an angel, reaching for a high-five and laughing out a _damn, I’m good!_

It makes her smile. 

“What?” Emma asks, grinning back. 

Alyssa kisses her lips softly. 

“Nothing.”

***

The night of prom is disastrous. 

Alyssa had noticed several things to be off throughout the day, but she hadn’t thought much of it, rationalizing that it’s just her nerves for what tonight means. 

She texts Emma throughout the day her excitement, smiling when she receives hearts and equally joyful replies in return. 

She allows hope to expand in her chest like a balloon, readies herself for the night of her life, putting in a little more effort than she normally would. She wants to look pretty; she wants _Emma_ to think she’s pretty. 

That balloon in her chest is popped with the sharpest needle known to man when her mother drives her to the lodge in town, explains of a fake _last-minute problem,_ actually seems _satisfied_ with herself as she does. 

And somewhere deep, somewhere Alyssa thought was well locked away, even _gone,_ she wonders if this is some kind of punishment. For what, she isn’t sure. She wonders if this is because of the bitterness she still holds in her heart for her father, if this is because she’d thrown a middle finger at several of the houses where friends of her mother lived while in the car with Emma after prom had been cancelled. 

A tiny, small voice even asks if this is _because_ of her and Emma, if this-- 

_No._

That’s one thing she knows for sure. 

_You can’t be punished for love._

Alyssa repeats the words, gathering some kind of strength from the mantra, storming down the stairs in time to catch Kaylee and Shelby at the snack table. 

“You lied to me,” she spits, angry and so, so heartbroken that she knows it’s evident on her face, evident in her voice. 

“Yeah? Who’s the liar?” 

In a flash, she understands what they mean. 

Kaylee and Shelby know. 

They _know._ They were in on this. They wanted this to hurt-- 

She doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation in detail. 

Vaguely, she can recall one of them saying she’ll thank them later. It makes her sick. 

Alyssa leans on the table for support, trying to think what to do next, trying to imagine Emma close, holding her up--

_Shit._

_Emma._

She runs outside, body not even registering that she’s wearing new heels that will surely give her blisters. 

She dials Emma’s number by heart. _“Pick up,”_ she breathes. _“Pick up. Pick up--”_

A broken greeting crackles through the receiver. Alyssa’s heart cracks in two. 

The conversation is shorter than she’d have liked; Emma sounds desperate, sounds lonely, and Alyssa wants nothing more than to go to her, but-- 

She can’t. She knows that, too. 

Everybody would know. It wouldn’t be safe. 

She says as much, slips up a few times, cries _stupid, stupid words_ in anguish. Of course she didn’t mean that it was _bad enough._ Of course she hadn’t planned this-- 

Her world comes crashing down in an instant, and her existence that was once so pleasantly filled with thoughts of Emma, with Emma’s voice and her laughter, is suddenly silent as the line goes dead on her phone, as the monotone rings through her skull.

 _“Emma?”_ she asks quietly, though she knows she’s already gone. _“Emma?!”_

Alyssa looks to the sky, wiping tears away before they can ruin her makeup. She can’t have anybody seeing her like this. 

She wants to pray, but she doesn’t even know what she’d say, what she’d ask for. 

_A do-over? A way back? To be in Emma’s arms again?_

They all seem impossible. 

Alyssa shivers. She forgot her sweater in the car. 

Maybe, there is no God. Maybe, all of the words she’s listened to for so long are just false promises, vows built on lies. She can’t imagine any sort of being with benevolence in their heart would allow this to happen. 

This isn’t a lesson, isn’t something that she can just sit and learn something from like her Sunday School teachers always told her. 

This is plain cruel. 

This is the worst night of her life. And with no Emma, no father, no comfort of faith, there’s nobody-- absolutely nothing-- to make it better. 

***

Emma breaks up with her on a cold, windy day, the kind that rarely comes during Edgewater springs, but when they do, they arrive in full force. 

Alyssa’s never felt so alone in her life. 

There’s a hollowness to Emma, and she’s clearly holding back whatever heartbreak is attempting to tear from her throat as she stares Alyssa down, sadness brimming on the corners of her eyes and a resolve that’s obviously running through her veins like ice. 

There’s a clear divide between them, and Alyssa wants to touch Emma, wants to hold her face, wants to do _anything_ to make it better, but she knows she can’t. 

She rambles on about her mother, breaks down at the mention of her father, watches hazel eyes flicker with that familiar warmth for one moment before Emma walls herself off again. 

Alyssa trembles, held together by nothing, by nobody, but her own pain, her own remorse, which both seem to be on their last legs, too. 

Emma asks her to go public. It’s a last ditch effort, and they both know it. 

Alyssa wishes she were that brave. She wishes for some new strength. 

It never comes. 

When Emma pulls her gaze away, utters a farewell so quiet, so sorrowful that it pierces deeper than anything she’s ever felt, Alyssa watches her go with a new understanding of the word _hurt._

She thought her heart was broken the night of the prom. 

Turns out, it can be broken into more pieces than two. It can be shattered into millions. 

She watches Emma go, watches Emma carry her heart away in the pocket of her jacket, watches the one good thing in her life pull open the door to her car and drive off, departing without a trace. 

***

Alyssa watches Emma’s video, heart in her throat the entire time.

She isn’t sure what she believes still, but she knows one thing for sure: if God hands out talent, He sure heaped a ton of it on Emma Nolan. 

She listens to her voice, the voice that’s sung so many love songs to her, and she gets lost in it, gets lost reading the comments, the _stories_ of kids just like them. It makes her heart ache, makes her wish she could drop a comment of her own proclaiming that this is the girl she loves, that nothing would feel more right than being in her arms again-- 

“Would you put that thing away?” her mother snaps. 

Alyssa flinches despite herself. Lately, her mother has only grown more cross. She tries not to let it get to her. She explains the details of Emma’s video, the plan to hold another prom, unsure where she learned to be so brave when she finally breaks the tension between them with the words she’s been trying to say for the last two years. 

“Can we talk?” She wrings her hands. Emma’s tale of their love rings through her head like a battle song. “Things are getting really crazy!” Shifting, she takes a step forward. “Mom, we have to talk about what’s really going on here.” Her heart, her soul, and her brain have all gotten into the boxing ring and seem to be trying to figure out who will come out on top. She can barely breathe, but she manages to get the words out, tries to be brave like Emma. “We can’t keep avoiding this just because it’s uncomfortable. I love you! And the thing is--”

When her mother shakes her, Alyssa’s entire world shivers and quakes. It’s like she’s finally seeing everything for what it is. 

This is a test. 

She doesn’t know from whom or for what. 

But it is a test.

And it’s time to stop being so afraid. 

Maybe that’s what she was supposed to learn. Maybe she needs to learn to be brave-- 

Maybe her unruly heart wants to be set free. 

She checks that it’s still in her chest. It beats rapidly. 

“I don’t want to be a part of your shit anymore!” she snaps. She rips herself away, running away before she can think better of it, wind whipping through her hair as freedom rings through the open cavern of her chest, a weight lifted from her. Tears rush down her cheeks, but she pays them no mind. 

Tears are for the living.

Tears are for the brave. 

That little balloon of hope returns; her belief in something higher descends on her like a comforting blanket once more; everything is right-- 

Well. 

Almost everything. 

***

“I love you, Emma Nolan!” 

She gathers strength from her own, personal, new-found God, gathers hope from the balloon in her chest. She reaches out a hand, begs Emma silently to take it. 

Rough fingertips brush over the back of her hand. She breathes a sigh of relief, steps forward until she can press their foreheads together.

Emma smiles. Alyssa’s never felt so whole, so worthy. 

“I just don’t want you to have a hard life,” her mother gasps, suddenly human after years of trying to be made of stone. 

Alyssa’s pulse stutters, deep and rough. Emma squeezes her hand tighter. 

“It’s already hard.” The words have been inside her for so long Alyssa was afraid they might get lost, but as soon as they spill from her, she does everything she can to hold back a sob.

Her mother murmurs that they’ll talk tonight. 

Alyssa nods. 

Emma whispers how proud she is. Alyssa’s heart begins to mend with every passing second. 

“I love you too,” Emma whispers into her hair. 

Alyssa collapses into her. Emma catches her up in her hands. 

It feels like salvation.

***

“I missed you,” Emma tells her, tentative and gentle as they sit on the curb outside the gym. 

It’s been hours of dancing, of finding gratitude for this night, for all of the little moments that make up this wonderful, awe-inspiring day. 

Emma raises their intertwined hands and kisses the back of her knuckles. 

“I love you.” It reads like a confession but it sounds more like poetry. “I never stopped loving you. And I’m so, so sorry. I was so hurt. But you were hurting too, and--”

Alyssa cuts her off with a gentle kiss. “I forgive you.” She rubs a thumb over Emma’s cheek. “Do you forgive me?”

It’s the only kind of forgiveness that Alyssa craves in this moment, will perhaps be the only sort that she wants for the rest of her life should she ever make a mistake. 

“Of course,” Emma answers, nudging their noses together. “Of course I forgive you.” 

Alyssa kisses her again, this time with sweetness, with tongue, with fire, with the thousands of words that went unspoken between them during their breakup and the new freedom that she feels in every breath. 

Emma grins, whispers her name like a prayer and a confession all at once, envelops this moment bathed in the half-light of night with a sanctity that rivals even the greatest of recitations. 

_“God,_ I love you,” she murmurs, cupping the back of Alyssa’s neck, urging her closer, their hearts beating in time at this new feeling, at the thrill of being sat on their school’s curb, kissing like anybody else would.  
  
Because they are like anybody else in every way that they should be. 

Alyssa nips at her girlfriend’s bottom lip and Emma gasps, takes the Lord’s name because of her, curses and breathes out affirmations until Alyssa knows for sure that this is what worship always should have been, that this is what she wishes it felt like to kneel at the altar, that if she was born sick, if that’s really the truth, she doesn’t even care. 

In fact, she loves it. 

Emma tastes of heaven and sugar, makes her heart pick up its pace and banishes worries she’s held below the surface for much of her life in a way that God never did. 

Emma tangles a hand in her hair, pulls her forward into a messy kiss that’s all love and heat, groans when Alyssa scratches at her scalp so tenderly that she has to pull back to catch her breath. 

There’s a far off look in her eyes as she looks at Alyssa, as if she’s seeing some kind of deity, one far more loving and righteous than the God they grew up with. 

It only lasts for a moment before Emma leans over to kiss her again, laughs into it when Alyssa mumbles something about getting arrested for public indecency on school grounds when her hand that’s in the shadow of the building begins to walk up beneath her skirt from where it was rested on her knee. 

_“You’re so beautiful,”_ Emma tells her again, breathes her in as if she wishes to drown in this moment, in this feeling. 

“I love you.” Alyssa whispers it into her mouth without thought. 

She feels Emma smile again, that perfect, _hot,_ brilliant grin, and so quickly, so forcefully, so _infinitely,_ Alyssa realizes, knows for sure, that nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ could feel holier than this. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! thanks for reading! it was super interesting and definitely a great project for me, so i hope that you enjoyed. 
> 
> now, what did you think? i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments/for you to drop me a kudo. it would make me smile. 
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr @ifthebookdoesntsell if you wanna chat some more. 
> 
> be safe x


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